


Bridging the Void

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-05
Updated: 2010-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Sherlock Kinkmeme</p><p>Prompt: Lestrade is walking home late at night after a long and tiring day at work. as he passes a bridge, he sees a girl standing here about to jump.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridging the Void

 

Lestrade walked along the embankment, head down, hands in his pockets. It had been a shitty end to a shitty day. First thing in the morning a call had come in about a dead child - it had been cleared up quickly, with the stepfather being the obvious suspect. He'd broken down and confessed, but that was a small victory compared to the life lost and those ruined. Then one of his officers had utterly fucked up in court, and what everyone had thought would be a sure conviction now hung in the balance, the jury still out. His lunch - half a sandwich which Donovan had ordered him to eat - had been interrupted by the arrival of Sherlock, who had succeeded in calling him fifty kinds of stupid within moments of arriving, had Donovan storming off in a huff and another officer almost in tears, and had then pointed out a few reasons Lestrade was still single, in front of the entire office. The afternoon had heralded a press conference, with particularly vicious reporters out to highlight every one of the Met's failings, and then a meeting with the Chief Super, who had managed to pin every one of those failings onto the three DIs present, Lestrade being one of them.

 

He pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket and a lighter. He'd given up a month ago. And again two weeks ago. And had promised himself he'd make a real go of it this time. Once he'd finished this last packet.

 

He leant against the rail and lit it, inhaling deeply, letting the warmth and comfort of the taste wash over him, as if he was relaxing from the lungs outwards.

 

Even at nearly two in the morning London seemed to manage to look busy - lights on in offices and shops, streetlights dancing through the branches of the trees, the river reflecting it all in waves and ripples.

 

He glanced around - a couple were walking toward him, arm in arm, deep in conversation, a body was asleep on a nearby bench, tucked up in a sleeping bag against the cold. And there was someone on the bridge, looking into the water as he was, just watching it all slide by.

 

The cigarette finished, the butt flicked off into the dark waters, Lestrade dug his hands back in his pockets and kept walking, kept thinking, turning over cases in his mind, along with his team, his life, the bloody unfairness of the Super dumping more responsibilities on them and finally Sherlock. Bloody Sherlock bastard Holmes.

 

As he neared the bridge he glanced across it, to see if the person was still there. They were, but what made him stop in his tracks was the fact they were on the wrong side of the rail - they were holding onto the edge, leaning out over the fast-flowing water, staring down, ponytail blowing in the slight breeze.

 

He ran up the steps and reached the road level before slowing his pace, not wanting to cause the girl - he was sure it was a girl - any alarm. He walked slowly, hands out of his pocket now, ready to run. Ready to throw off his coat and kick off his shoes and take a dive into the Thames.

 

It was obvious, when he got to within a few metres, that the girl hadn't noticed his approach. She was standing on the wide edge, arms out behind her, hands hooked over the thick rail. He guessed she was early twenties, a stripy wooly hat on her head, matching gloves and a smart coat over a skirt, tights and boots.

 

He debated trying to grab her, but was unsure he'd manage it. So instead he moved slightly further away, then leant on the railing, looking down into the water too, every sense on alert to any movement from her. He heard her small gasp as she noticed him. He looked around and smiled.

 

"Evening," he said.

 

"E...evening," she replied, and he noticed she'd stopped leaning out, was hugging the handrail now. And it was obvious she'd been crying.

 

"Bit of a cold one, isn't it?" he continued.

 

She sniffed loudly, but didn't let go to wipe her nose or eyes. "Yes," she said in a small voice.

 

He searched his pocket and found a handkerchief, then took a few steps toward her, holding it out.

 

"No! Don't come near," she cringed away from him.

 

"Okay, okay," he stopped. "Look - just take this - I'll put it here, you can take it, I won't come nearer."

 

He leant forward as far as he could and placed the white folded square on the balustrade, then backed away.

 

She watched him, carefully, then edged forward, holding tightly, and picked it up, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, mascara smudging wildly.

 

"I really hope you're not going to jump," he said softly.

 

She looked at him, eyes wide. "I am. Don't try to stop me."

 

"I won't, if you really don't want me to. But once you've jumped I will jump in after you, okay? I will rescue you."

 

She shook her head. "No, no, that's not what I want, I don't want...I want to die."

 

Lestrade blew out a breath, stuffing his hands back in his pockets and leaning back onto the rail. "Really?" he didn't look at her, but studied the gum-spattered pavement at his feet. "When did you decide today was the day?"

 

"What?"

 

He still didn't look at her. "When did you decide it would be here, now? What happened? Have you planned it, for weeks? Is today special? Or was today just the last straw?"

 

She didn't answer for a while, and he didn't push.

 

"Last straw," she finally said, her voice small, the tears coming back.

 

"D'you smoke?" Lestrade asked, holding up the packet.

 

She nodded.

 

"Want one?"

 

She nodded again.

 

He opened the pack and looked down at the three cigarettes inside. He pulled one out and held it up, crumpling the pack with his other hand. "Last one. Mind if I share?"

 

She looked at him as if he'd gone a bit mad, but shook her head in a jerky little movement.

 

He lit it and took a drag, exhaling the cloud of smoke and moving toward her slightly, until, if he stretched, he could just about reach her. She shied away again as he held the cigarette out, but he stayed motionless, holding it between two fingers. "Go on, I won't try anything."

 

She took it in a swift movement, her other arm now almost wrapped around the balustrade.

 

Lestrade turned again, to look back at the water, using the movement to get even closer to her.

 

"What was it then, work?"

 

"Partly," she answered, exhaling the smoke and taking another drag.

 

"What were the other parts?"

 

"Friends. Ex. Everything."

 

"Family?" Lestrade asked.

 

She shook her head.

 

"Haven't got any, or they aren't the problem?"

 

"Not the problem. Not really. They ain't here, they're back home."

 

He nodded. "Ever seen a body they pull out of here?" he gestured to the river.

 

She looked shocked again, but shook her head.

 

"I have. Horrible, you wouldn't think water could do so much damage. It's not like on TV, where you just look pale."

 

She looked down, the bright strings of lights on the embankment twinkled back on the ripples.

 

"If you jump, and I jump, and I don't reach you, who's going to be the one coming to ID your body in the morgue? Your Mum, Dad?"

 

She gave a minute shrug.

 

"They'll ask why. What shall I tell them?"

 

"Work's stupid - I hate it, my boss hates me, told me I'm useless, I thought I had friends, but they're all just bitches, out to get what's good for them. And my boyfriend dumped me, for some tart he met at his work. And I can't afford my rent and it's all just pointless."

 

Lestrade nodded and held his hand out for the cigarette. She stared at it for a moment before realising and handing it over. He flicked the ash off it and took another drag.

 

"My last boyfriend dumped me, too," he said.

 

"Your...oh," she had gone back to holding onto the bridge with both hands, he was glad to see.

 

"And my boss seems to hate me. And my best friend told me I was useless, a waste of space, stupid..."

 

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend."

 

Lestrade snorted, blowing out smoke. "No, don't suppose he does. But he's pretty much the only one I've got."

 

"You...someone like you must have more than one friend," she said.

 

"You think? Nah, too old to do anything exciting, too poor to try and impress any new boyfriends, spend too much of my time at work to care about much else, although I may as well not bother, cos I don't get any thanks for it.

 

She gave a small noise of agreement.

 

"In fact," Lestrade jumped up to sit on the handrail, then swung his legs over.

 

"No!" she said, before she seemed able to stop herself.

 

He looked at her, surprised.

 

"I'm not going to stop you, I'm going to join you," he said. "You've talked me into it."

 

"No, no..." she held out one of her hands to him. "Don't..."

 

He gave a small smile. "If someone like you thinks it isn't worth it - someone with their whole life ahead of them, just starting out, just starting to live, if you don't think it's worth it how can it be for me?"

 

"No, you..."

 

"What d'you do? You job?"

 

She looked flustered and confused at the sudden change of subject. "Um, I'm a photo editor, for a magazine, for clothes."

 

"Ah," he nodded. "That's why you dress so nicely, is it?"

 

She looked down at herself, and gave a tiny smile. "I don't...I mean, it's not that nice."

 

"I don't know anything about fashion," he held out his arms, letting go of the bridge completely, and noticing as she gave a little jump toward him, as if to save him. "You can probably tell."

 

"No – I mean, you look fine. You work in an office?"

 

"Sort of," Lestrade answered. "Hey, here," he dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Take that – there's only about a tenner in it, but there's my cash card, too. Get the rent out of that – there's more than a hundred in there, I reckon. Nine oh seven two's the PIN. Sort yourself out."

 

"No, no, I can't…don't be stupid, you can't…What about all the stuff you said to me, about the family, about…"

 

Lestrade shrugged. "Haven't got a family. Barnado's boy, me. No one'd care."

 

"They would…your workmates, what about this friend, he'd care, wouldn't he?"

 

"He is a workmate. Sort of. Yeah, maybe a few of them'd be upset. Not for long though."

 

"What do you do?" she asked, her voice small.

 

"Police. Murder squad."

 

"You…you can't, you…you help people, you save people! Why do you want to...?"

 

"Don't save people, they're dead by the time I see them. I catch people, sometimes, but I don't save them."

 

She shook her head. "It's important though, what you do, it's important to…people, to the world."

 

"Not up to much if I can't save you, am I? First time I've ever had the chance, to properly save anyone. And I can't. Bollocks, innit?" He leant out slightly, allowing his body to hang over the void.

 

"Don't, come back and…"

 

Lestrade pulled himself back. "Will you take the money?"

 

She shook her head, mutely.

 

"Will you come with me, let me buy you a cup of tea? There's a twenty four hour café, 'round the corner."

 

She didn't move, just staring at him.

 

"Please? You don't want this, not really. And if you do…well, I won't walk this way tomorrow. And I hope I won't be the one who has to stand with your mum and dad in the mortuary."

 

She slowly nodded. Lestrade reached out his hand and held onto hers, supporting her as she carefully clambered back over the railing. He sent up a prayer of thanks to a God he didn't believe in and climbed over himself.

 

"This way," he dug his hands back in his pockets, and felt the crumpled cigarette packet. He pulled it out, straightening the two cigarettes out a bit. "Want one?"

 

"You said it was your last one, before!"

 

Lestrade put one of the cigarettes between his lips. "You said you were going to jump. I had to do something."

 

She gave a small smile. "What's your name?"

 

"Greg. You?"

 

"Zoe."

 

"Pleased to meet you," he stuck his hand out.

 

She smiled and took it, shaking it.

 

~Fin


End file.
